Game Over, Mr. CEO

My husband Mark and I built DreamWeaver Games from a college dorm room.

He was the CEO, I was the lead developer – the one who actually made the games.

Our company was our dream, our life, for years.

But then, he started spending company money, our money, on lavish gifts and dinners for Chloe, our flirty PR manager.

When I questioned the "marketing expenses," he gave me the silent treatment for three months.

One morning, he dangled a brochure for a luxury resort, promising a "reconnecting" getaway – only to cancel last minute.

He gave my first-class ticket and the entire luxury booking to Chloe, claiming it was for "company business," a crucial publisher meeting.

Later that night, Instagram exploded with photos of Mark and Chloe, clinking champagne at my resort suite.

They beamed as a "power couple," their captions mocking me and everything we built.

It was a punch to the gut, a public humiliation.

How could the man I loved, my partner in every sense, so carelessly betray and humiliate me?

The silent treatment, the blatant affair, the open mockery – I was bone-tired of fighting, of being dismissed.

My heart, once full of dreams for us, felt dead inside, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.

That night, as their "power couple" selfies mocked me from my phone, I knew it was over.

No more fighting for him, no more fighting for DreamWeaver.

It was time to fight for Sarah, and I already had my first move in motion.